


Scruffy

by foxcatcher



Series: International Purveyors of Pornography [6]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Adult Entertainment, Anal Sex, Big Papa H, Borderline PWP, Boss/Employee Relationship, Brief Mention of the Miz and Even Briefer Mention of Cass, Business Veteran Hunter, But It's Really Just Dean Being a Brat, Community: wrestlingkink, Dean Is Mouthy, Dean's Tank Tops, Hunter's Ego, I Don't Even Know, If WWE did porn instead of wrestling, M/M, Mild Daddy Kink, Oral Sex, Porn Set, Porn!AU, Possible Mitch Cameo?, Rough Sex, Some Weird Dean Identity Stuff, The (Sledge) Hammer Is My Penis, Vince is a Terrible Boss, mild anger issues, pure filth, terrible puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 11:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19294453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxcatcher/pseuds/foxcatcher
Summary: Hunter H. Helmsley was not a happy man. And to make matters worse, his client was late.





	Scruffy

**Author's Note:**

> I started this ages ago, mostly just because I thought the idea of HHH as a former porn star was funny, and I finally took the time to finish it. I promise there some plot in there somewhere.
> 
> I imagined a relatively young, bratty Dean when I wrote this, but feel free to imagine whatever. Still not 100% sure about the Jon/Dean stuff, but I liked playing around with it. Partial fills to two old kinkmeme prompts: one (link below) which asked for Dean as a debuting porn star, and another (that I can't find atm) which wanted Dean and HHH in a employee-boss relationship of some kind. Hopefully, neither of them are too out of character!
> 
> https://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org/279.html?thread=485143

Hunter H. Helmsley was not a happy man.

How many years had he sunk into this company? How many years spent slowly clawing his way up through the ranks in order to become Mr. McMahon’s second-in-command? How many days spent putting up with the CEO’s particular brand of madness? He’d worked harder than anyone to get from one side of the camera to the other. He’d paid his dues. He’d even _married the man’s daughter_ , for Christ’s sake.

And where had that got him?

Stuck doing entry-level auditions all day, because Vince had decided he didn’t have anything better to do with his time. It was almost funny. _Almost_. Had he not known for sure that their main casting agent, William Regal, had been sent to the UK to scout for talent, he would have assumed that the man had fucked off just to annoy him, leaving him to fume by himself in the interview room. 

Really, to call it an interview room was an act of pure optimism. It was clearly just an empty porn set – no windows, sparsely decorated and painted a bland, non-offensive shade of beige. In a sad attempt at making it look less like a porn set, someone had put a pot plant next to the black leather sofa and arranged a few copies of _Men’s Fitness_ on the coffee table. The only effect it had was to make the room look even more like a porn set.

To make matters worse, his client was late.

Hunter scowled at the door and tapped his pen against his clipboard. The form attached to it was the usual irrelevant, badly formulated drivel that Vince favoured, as well as what basic info they had on the client. Hunter frowned down at it. Honestly. He didn’t need a five-page questionnaire to tell him what it took to make it around here. Things might have changed a little since his days, but there had been a time when he’d been the company’s biggest seller, and it was still there – the business was in his blood, in his bones. He could spot a potential star in a heartbeat.

As if on cue, the door to the room swung open and in slouched a man who looked like… Well. The only word that came to Hunter’s mind was “scruffy.” Or to be more precise, he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed after a particularly rough night. His hair was a floppy mess, hanging into a pair of sleepy blue eyes, and his stubble was stuck somewhere between “five o’clock shadow” and “please buy me a new razor.” He was wearing a washed-out black hoodie with holes in the sleeves, blue jeans and scuffed sneakers, effectively hiding most of his figure under the baggy layers. Even his body language was nothing like the people Hunter usually had to deal with; no puffed-out chest or blinding white smile that seemed to want to sell you something. Instead, the man had one hand jammed into the pocket of his hoodie while he scanned the room lazily, the other absentmindedly fiddling with his hair. Nothing about him said that he was there for a job interview – it seemed more like he’d got lost on his way to Denny’s.

Hunter glanced down at his clipboard. There wasn’t much to go on – a name, some measurements, clear test results – but it was a start. A really poor start.

Putting on his least terrifying smile, Hunter got out of his chair to greet the man.

“Hunter Helmsley, Vice President. You must be here for the audition.”

The man – _Dean_ , according to the form, although something about it didn’t sit right with Hunter – stared at his hand for a moment, before loosely clasping it, the other hand still in his pocket. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice raspy – and, jeez, he even sounded like death warmed over – before adding, like an afterthought, “Dean.”

Clearly not the talkative type. Hunter kept his smile going purely by years and years of practice – working for Mr. McMahon did at least give you that. After he’d married Stephanie, Hunter had foolishly thought things might get better, or at the very least not worse – he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping to take the man’s place some day. In reality, the only thing that had changed was that now, Vince expected him to come around for Christmas.

Clearing his throat, Hunter motioned for Dean to sit down on the couch. Regardless of how… unusual the man seemed, he could do this part in his sleep. All those years in mid-level management had prepped him for this – start off with some empty small talk, follow the interview form, let him down gently, blah blah blah. If he was quick, he might be able to go for early lunch.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked as the man planted himself heavily on the couch. “Water? Tea?” Dean made a non-committal sound, shifting in his seat, and Hunter noticed that one of his hands seemed to be bandaged, the wrapping just visible past the long sleeve of the hoodie. It looked pretty new too – could it be a sports injury? Work related? Some kind of drunken battle wound? Realising he had gone quiet, Hunter forced himself to look away, meeting Dean’s hooded gaze.

“Right. Before we start, I am legally required to let you know that we will be recording the entire audition,” Hunter continued, pointing to a video camera set up behind him. “Do you have any objections to that?”

Dean just shook his head.

“Good, good. It’s just a precaution. We get a lot of, uh… characters here. I guess we’ll continue to the interview, if you’re ready.”

Again, Dean didn’t bother with an actual reply, but Hunter brushed it off, clicking his pen.

“Name?”

“What?”

“What’s your name?” Hunter repeated, biting back the spark of annoyance that flared up inside him.

“You already know that. Just said it.”

“It’s for the tape.” Dean just looked at him, one eyebrow slightly raised. Apparently, the scruffy man had got out of bed on the wrong side this morning and did not want to play ball. Hunter tightened his grip on the pen. “Right, why don’t we just skip the formalities then?”

The quicker he could get through the form, the sooner he could boot this man out the door and get on with his life. The only problem being that Vince’s standardised forms were as long as a bad year, and about as useful as one of those online self-help quizzes that told you which type of dog you were.

“Is this your first venture into po-, into Adult Entertainment?” Hunter quickly corrected himself. He was never going to get used to that.

Dean had barely moved an inch since he sat down, slumped on the couch like a teenager with his hands in his hoodie, and still staring at Hunter with those sleepy, blue eyes. He had a foot propped up on the coffee table, legs spread lazily. The other foot was tapping nervously against the floor.

“Nah’, ‘ve done this and that before, nothin’ special,” he shrugged. “Mostly small-scale stuff. Didn’t want to be tied down to anything. Used to cage fight on the side, y’know, bareknuckle shit, but they didn’t like me turning up to shoots with injuries, so I had’ta give that up,” he added casually, like it was no big deal.

“…Great,” Hunter said after letting the other man’s words sink in a little. “And why have you decided to come to WWE Inc.? If you didn’t want to be ‘tied down’?”

“’Cause I’m tired of havin’ to choose between dinner and heating?” Dean replied flatly, inspecting a fingernail before biting down on it.

“Ok. Fair enough,” Hunter couldn’t really fault him for that, even though the man’s tone was beginning to get on his nerves. He seemed completely over it, like it was all a big bother to him, and had it been someone else, Hunter would have sent him packing already. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that there might be more to the younger man than it seemed. A different tactic was needed. He put his clipboard down on his lap and leant forward in what he hoped was a friendly, inviting way.

“How about you just tell us a bit about yourself, eh?”

No deal. Dean shrugged and continued to chew on his thumbnail.

“What else is there to know? I need a job and I’m down with fucking for money.”

Jesus, it was like pulling teeth. Hunter hadn’t missed how the answers, or what passed for them, were coming out more clipped, too, like Dean was losing his patience, his knee bouncing up and down. That made them two.

“No, I mean, tell us something interesting about yourself,” Hunter bit out. “Some fun facts. Like, do you have any hobbies?”

That at least got a bark of a laugh out of the other man.

“Oh my God, are you hearin’ yourself?” Dean scoffed. “Fun facts? What, are you gonna ask me if I’m a boxer or briefs kinda guy next?”

Hunter could feel the anger pulsating just beneath his skin, threatening to break through any second if this brat kept it going. Drawing a deep, careful breath, he put his clipboard down again and steepled his fingers, glaring at the younger man who was still sprawled on the couch, foot still tapping against the ground.

“Look, _Dean_ ,” he spat out. “Whether you like it or not, this is how we conduct all our auditions with potential actors. The business has changed considerably the past few years, and if you’re not willing to-“

“Don’t give me that ‘Adult Entertainment’ bullshit,” Dean cut him off. “It’s _fucking_. And we’ve spent, what, 15 minutes just chatting? Obviously, I ain’t here because of my winning personality or my sound financial decisions. All that matters is how well I can fuck or get fucked, and I can guarantee you I’m a million times better at that than any of those gym bunnies you have on your posters out there. In fact, it’s a fucking travesty that I’ve still got my clothes on.”

Dean was leaning forward on his knees, eyes suddenly awake - gone was the sullen, overgrown teenager that had been looking at Hunter seconds ago, replaced with this bold, animated man who met Hunter’s gaze head-on.

“Anything you can throw at me, I can take, big guy.”

It was big talk for a man with holes in his shoes. Hunter stared back, letting the words hang in the air between them. As much as he disliked it, as much as he was still seething, he couldn’t help but be impressed at the moxy of this scruffy-looking man who had turned up to face the largest company in the business armed solely with weapons-grade swagger. Most of the men Hunter dealt with thought they were the hottest thing since sliced bread, but none of them had embodied this confidence as much as Dean. And it wasn’t like he disagreed with what the man was saying – if anything, he knew better than anyone else how terrible most of Vince’s ideas were. Behind the thrumming anger, the younger man had piqued his interest.

Unfortunately, Dean wasn’t done talking.

“I mean, look at this fuckin’ joke, The Miz,” he continued, gesturing towards one of the magazines on the table. “Is that what all your surveys and interviews say people want now? People with more teeth than brain cells? The business hasn’t changed that much since your days, dude. You were the real deal – I can’t believe you’d allow them to put your name on that glossy trash. And it can’t _just_ be ‘cause you’re fuckin’ the big man’s daught-“

“That’s _enough_.”

Just like that, any goodwill he’d had for the man had evaporated. Hunter was not going to be disrespected like that in his own fake office, even if it meant making that tall guy from the writing department come down and drag Dean out of the building by his hood. He fished his phone out of his pocket and pressed speed dial.  
Hunter had always thought getting Bo Dallas, of all people, as a personal assistant was Vince’s idea of pranking him, though he’d be damned if he was going to let his father-in-law know that. For all his quirks, Bo had turned out to be excellent at shaking up the cockiest of their rookies – he tended to inspire a kind of confused worry in them, like they might accidentally have taken a wrong turn somewhere and were about to join a cult.

“Hi Bo, tell Cass to- … don’t ever call me ‘buddy’ again, Bo, I swear to-“

“Please.”

Hunter froze, Bo still chirping away into his ear. Without a word he hung up and turned towards the man on the couch.

“What did you say?”

Dean was squirming in his seat, eyes downcast, fiddling with his sleeves. He seemed almost annoyed at having said it, but Hunter wasn’t letting that one go. The ball was back in his court now.

“Please.”

The blue-eyed man said it a bit more deliberately this time, slowly meeting Hunter’s shark-like gaze. Hunter didn’t say anything for a moment, simply observing the other man, turning the phone over in his hand.

“I could have you thrown out and banned from every professional studio around within seconds,” he said carefully.

“But you haven’t.” There was still fire left in Dean’s eyes, flickering behind the blue, but he was treading carefully now that Hunter had shown him where the line was drawn. Hunter couldn’t help but smile a little. He liked this Dean, still defiant, yet trying his best to be good. Maybe there was potential in him after all. 

“No, I haven’t.”

The phone was still in his hand, Bo a simple click of a button away, but he wasn’t considering it anymore. Something old and familiar was stirring inside of him – something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since he’d been on the other side of the camera. This, he could work with.

“Strip.”

-

Without a word, Dean got up and pulled his hoodie over his head. Under all the layers, he was built like someone who didn’t necessarily go to the gym, but kept active – slim and firm, with a trim waist accentuated by a tight-fitting tank top. And Dean knew he looked good, too, positively flaunting himself to Hunter, staring him right in the eyes as he slowly unzipped his jeans and slid them down his muscular thighs. No underwear, Hunter noted. Dean was half-hard already, unashamed as he toed off his shoes, pulling off his trousers and his socks until he was naked from the waist down.

“Keep it on,” Hunter stopped him as the man gripped the back of the tank top, about to pull it over his head. The look on Dean’s face told him he hadn’t expected that, but it quickly disappeared, as he turned around to drop his clothes by the side of the couch, allowing Hunter to gawp at his ass. And what an ass it was. Hunter squeezed himself through his trousers, drawing a sharp breath between his teeth. 

“Enjoying the view?” Dean asked smugly, turning back to face him with a knowing glint in his eye. The tease.

“Get over here,” the older man practically growled. “Right now.”

It was Hunter’s turn to be surprised. The last thing he’d expected was for Dean to sink down to his hands and knees and _crawl_ towards him. And it looked damned good on him – the arched line of the man’s strong back, perfect ass in the air, completely at ease as he moved over the carpet, like it was everything but demeaning to him to crawl like this. Hunter swallowed thickly. He could take him right here. Press him down into the carpet and fuck him until his knees were rubbed raw and he was screaming with it. The room felt a lot warmer than it had a few minutes ago.

Dean was between his legs now, hands on Hunters’ thighs, looking up at him all coy, like he was waiting for permission before he went any further. Hunter could have sworn he saw the shadow of a smirk on Dean’s boyish face, and a wave of annoyance washed over him. No matter how comfortable he was on his knees, Hunter was the one holding the cards here. Not this street mutt.

Without any warning, he grabbed Dean by the scruff of his neck and shoved his face towards his crotch none too gently.

“If you want this job, you’re gonna have to convince me.”

Dean only groaned, scraping his thin lips against the outline of Hunter’s bulge - he could feel the younger man’s tongue through the fabric of his slacks as he mouthed along it, hands coming up to clutch at his thighs. Tightening his hold on Dean’s mussed brown hair, he pulled his head back while he unzipped himself and freed his cock with his other hand, delighting in the way Dean’s eyes widened almost comically.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, wrapping his bandaged hand around the base. “It’s even bigger than I thought.”  
The man ran his tongue up the length of Hunter’s cock, lapping wetly along the sides, before taking him in his mouth, pushing down as far as he could. Dean sucked dick like Hunter imagined he did most things – intense and with very little finesse. He was good at it, if pretty messy, good enough that Hunter could probably hold him by the head and fuck his throat until he couldn’t speak, and he had the feeling that Dean probably wouldn’t mind that one bit. Hunter buried his fingers in Dean’s hair again, holding him while Dean tried to take him deeper into his throat, making wet, gagging noises that really ought to be disgusting but only made him want to push him further down. 

He only stopped him when Dean tried to sneak a hand down to touch himself.

“Nuh-uh,” he chided, shoving Dean’s head away, hard enough that the younger man had to catch himself with one arm, and patted his thigh. “My playground, my rules. Get up.”

Dean did as he was told, wiping his mouth on the back of his bandaged hand as he planted a knee on each side of Hunter, straddling his thighs. To Hunter’s delight, Dean was hard just from blowing him, cock jutting out beneath his tight tank, but he kept his hands to himself for now. Instead, he reached behind the chair, grabbing the tube he knew was there and handed it do Dean. One of the perks of working at a porn studio was that there was lube _everywhere_.

“Alright, tough guy, show me what you can do.”

Dean took the tube without so much as a raised eyebrow. Hunter leant back in the chair, watching leisurly as Dean squeezed a glob of lube into the palm of his good hand, rubbing it between his fingers and reached behind himself.

It was so much better with Dean this close. One thing was being able to see all the little details that Dean would have hidden had he stayed on the couch – the light flush that was spreading down to his shoulders, his eyes closed in concentration, mouth sinfully wet as he added a third finger – but it was what he could _feel_ that really made it. Every movement of his hand would rock him in Hunter’s lap, the hand not currently occupied braced against the back of the chair near Hunter’s head, his thighs trembling slightly where they were spread over his, cock red and hard against Hunter’s suit. Without jostling him, Hunter wrapped a large hand around both their cocks, allowing himself a smirk at the size difference. Not that Dean was a small man – he wasn’t by any measure. But they hadn’t called him the Sledgehammer for nothing.

Dean moaned hotly, hips jerking towards Hunter, fucking himself between the dual sensations of their hands.

“Think you can manage all of this?” Hunter asked smugly. “Or are you getting cold feet?”

Dean opened one eye and grinned at him, face a little flushed. “No takesies-backsies. Been waitin’ for this for a long time,” he said, licking his lips as he pulled out his fingers. Then, both arms braced against the back of the chair, he sunk down onto Hunter’s cock, faster than he’d maybe intended.

“S-Shit,” he half laughed, half gasped, lifting himself up on strong thighs to sink back down again, taking a bit more of Hunter’s length with each move. “Gonna split me in two, big guy…”

Hunter drew a sharp breath. The younger man was tight, struggling around the massive girth, though he was taking him nearly down to the hilt now.

“What d’you wan- fuck – want me to call you?” Dean slurred, slowly fucking himself on Hunter’s length. Hunter stroked a hand up his thigh to his hip, fingers toying with the hem of his tank before he pushed it up, admiring the man’s smooth toned chest while he moved. He hadn’t been lying about the fighting – Dean bore the marks of what looked to have been some pretty rough stuff, his skin criss-crossed with scars in various stages of healing, silvery white to faded red to relatively fresh ones, only just scabbed over.

“I guess Hunter’s only for the initiated,” Dean rambled on, bouncing in the Vice President’s lap. “What about Mr. Helmsley? Or ‘boss’?” He leant back, shamelessly showing himself off to the older man, hands braced on Hunter’s thighs so he could see everything – Hunter’s thick cock sliding in and out of him, his own erection bobbing with each move, the long line of his torso, top rucked up over his chest.

“How about ‘daddy’?”

Hunter hadn’t meant to give him the pleasure of a reaction when he was so obviously angling for one, but couldn’t stop the groan that came out of him, tightening his hold on the other man. Dean smirked at him, licking his lips.

“Fuck, _daddy_ ,” he moaned, absolutely filthy. He was getting bolder as well, now that he’d got used to it, rocking onto Hunter’s dick with sharp rolls of his hips.

And Hunter couldn’t have that, now could he?

Arching an eyebrow at the smug thing in his lap, he dug his fingers into Dean’s hips and slammed him down onto his cock. It did the trick – Dean let out a harsh sound, hands scrabbling against the chair as Hunter ground into him, pleased to the see the man’s confident mask slip a little. He held him there, watching Dean twitch and swear as he pressed against his sweet spot, forcing another urgent sound out of the man, hole clenching around him. That’d show him for thinking he could play games with… well, the Game.

Though Hunter was nowhere near done with the man.

“Right, up you go,” he said casually, pulling out of Dean’s tight heat and more or less pushed him off him. The scruffy man barely had time to get on his feet before Hunter was dragging him over to the side of the couch, tugging the hem of his top up and over his head like he was about to take it off him, but instead, he left it behind Dean’s head, straps still around his shoulders. The flush had crawled further down his chest, a mouth-watering pink creeping down past his nipples – Dean was half-sitting on the arm of the couch, looking up at Hunter with an expression that was part anticipation, part need, hard cock leaking against his stomach, and Hunter could see the shiny tracks of lube running down his inner thighs. The contrast between their states was tantalising. Dean was nearly naked, save for the cotton tank, the bandage and a thin sheen of sweat, his hair even more dishevelled than it had been when he’d arrived, while Hunter was still in his full suit, trousers only unzipped far enough to free his cock. It made Dean look almost soft by comparison – young and defenceless.

Growling, Hunter spun Dean around and bent him over the arm of the couch, sinking into the sleepy-eyed man before he could say a word.

Done with the teasing from earlier, he fucked Dean hard, clenching the fabric of his top in his fist like a harness so he could pull the younger man back onto his dick. Dean, for his part, was busy holding on to the couch, fingers digging into the leather as he tried to meet Hunter’s rough pace as well as he could, moaning in that raspy voice. Hunter had known it. Dean couldn’t handle him – his arms were almost shaking trying to keep himself up, the moans getting louder and higher. The sofa was creaking in protest, inching across the floor with every forceful thrust. It seemed like the mutt wasn’t quite as tough as he had tried to make himself appear. It must have been an act, Hunter thought to himself – he’d seen the type before countless of times, guys who were all swagger until they were pushed past their limit, until someone really tried to hold them up to their claims.

After a particularly sharp thrust, Dean’s arms gave out, palms slipping on the cushions.

Hunter pulled out, enjoying the soft sound of protest from Dean, before easily flipping the man around and pushing him down onto the couch. Smirking, he admired his handiwork - Dean looked thoroughly fucked out, flat on his back and panting, his eyes hazy – though he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t a little disappointing that Dean hadn’t lived up to his own words. At least he’d managed to fuck the cocky out of him, that was always pretty satisfying. As he braced one knee against the couch and slid back into the younger man, holding him still with one large hand on his waist, he caught himself wondering who Dean actually was.

He doubted Dean had given his real name in his application, so there was no reason he couldn’t have lied about his age as well, or his previous experience. What more could be hiding behind the street-smart façade? Who was he? The man beneath him gasped as Hunter began to move again, fucking him with slow yet firm thrusts.

“What do you want me to call _you_ , then?” Hunter smiled down at him, mocking the man’s earlier, over-confident words. He gripped Dean’s thighs, pushing his knees towards his chest so he could lean in, looming over him. “Because you don’t look like a Dean to me.”

Not-Dean turned his head to the side, groaning as Hunter slowed down almost to a halt, the new angle letting him slide in even deeper. “F-fuck,” he managed, arching and bucking in vain to make the older man move properly again.

“Tell me your name, and I might let you come,” Hunter said, playing at being sweet, brushing the hair out of Not-Dean’s eyes and making him look up at him. He wasn’t sure what it was about the scruffy-looking mutt that inspired this curiosity in him, but he needed to know now – it felt like the man was a puzzle, tantalisingly close to being solved. Not-Dean swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing, and Hunter wanted to touch it, wanted to wrap his hands around his neck.

“J-“ the younger man stammered as Hunter’s dick dragged over his prostate. He gulped down a breath, trying to get the word out. “J-Jon.”

There was a flicker of something in Dean’s – _Jon’s_ – eyes. Something small and soft, drawing Hunter in. He pushed himself up, fucking into the man, the sound of skin slapping against skin reverberating through the hollow room.

“That’s it,” he sneered down at the man writhing beneath him, struggling to keep up with the now-punishing pace. “That’s it, _Jon_. I can see it in you. I know people like you – think you can come in and talk a big game, take on the old guy, but when it comes down to it, you can’t handle it, can you? Tell me, is it living up to your expectations?” Jon wasn’t really in a position to say much at all, eyes squeezed shut as Hunter fucked him into the cushions, mouth wet and open. Hunter fucked him with deep, hard strokes, Jon’s sweaty back sliding obscenely against the pleather. “I’m going to eat you alive, Jon.”

Eyes still closed, Jon grabbed one of Hunter’s hands, still holding his knee against his chest, and Hunter thought he’d finally gone too far. Slowly, the shaggy-haired man opened his eyes, unfocused at first, until they found the figure above him, meeting his gaze.

And stuck his tongue out at him.

Hunter stopped dead in his tracks, staring down at the younger man in disbelief.

“You…” He could feel the anger bubbling up again, thick and red, but behind it, there was something in him that was pleased with the man. “You little…”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he pushed Jon’s knees nearly to his ears and proceeded to hammer him into the couch until he could feel the other man spill between them, moaning and clenching around him, hands clawing at the back of his suit until Hunter followed shortly after.

-

Hunter took the memory card out of the long-forgotten camera. Of course, there was absolutely no way the tape could be used or turned over, everything considered. There was nothing for it – Jon would have to come back. He pocketed the card, smirking to himself. The future looked bright for a certain scruffy-looking man.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated :)


End file.
